


Phases

by CaptainOzone



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Animagus, Bromance, Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Character Study, Feels, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Marauders, Marauders Friendship, Marauders' Era, POV Remus Lupin, Remus Lupin-centric, Werewolf Reveal
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-30
Updated: 2015-07-30
Packaged: 2018-04-12 00:57:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4459205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainOzone/pseuds/CaptainOzone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times the Marauders reminded Remus Lupin he wasn't alone...and the one time they couldn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Phase I: A New Moon

**Author's Note:**

> A huge thank you to ErinNovelist, who not only directed me toward the inspiration for this fic but who also came up with the "phases" theme.

 

* * *

_~A time for new beginnings and fresh starts, when there is nothing but an innocent excitement for today... and very little concern for tomorrow~_

* * *

_“_ Alright, love?”

Remus started and tore his eyes away from the scarlet engine. It was surreal to be standing on this platform, surrounded by boisterous families, eager students, loaded trolleys, and owls of all shapes and sizes. His father had told so many stories about this very platform and the magnificent train it housed that Remus hadn’t been able to help but entertain dreams of observing his would-be classmates during this rite of passage, even though he’d learned long, long ago his dreams could be nothing more, and nothing less, than the most whimsical of fantasies.

And yet here he stood on Platform 9 ¾, already dressed in his standard black robes. Even in his wildest dreams, Remus had never imagined there’d be a trunk full of magical texts and Potions ingredients at his side. And never, _ever_ would he have dreamed there’d be a wand—his beautiful cypress wood wand of ten-and-a-quarter inches, complete with a core of unicorn hair—tucked safely away in his pocket.

There was no harm in dreaming of observing, Remus figured. Those were dreams he could live without if they never came to be. The harm lay in things that were too big, too impossible, to dream. Perhaps, then, it wasn’t so strange it had never once occurred to Remus he might one day join his future classmates aboard the train. As one of them.

And yet here he was. Just like in his father’s stories. No matter how many times it occurred to him that it was truly happening, he couldn’t believe it.

Gentle fingers trailed across his shoulders, and Remus finally turned to face his mother, whose eyes of melted caramel shone with fading delight and growing concern. It was her first time on the platform, too, and though she was used to seeing Father perform magic at home, Remus was aware how wondrous it was for her to be surrounded by so many magical families.

“I’m alright, Mum,” Remus answered softly, not certain if he was telling the truth or not.

She pressed a kiss to his hair and whispered, “Not feeling ill?”

Dread settled into Remus’ gut, dousing the overwhelming awe he’d been experiencing since his first step through the barrier. He shook his head, shame threatening to set his cheeks ablaze, and stared at the red engine again, its presence now more ominous than it was magical.

“It’s a fortnight yet,” Father murmured, kneeling before his son and putting a comforting hand on his shoulder. “You remember what we discussed before coming to the station, Remus?”

“Yes, Father,” Remus answered. They had discussed it more than once at great length. With Albus Dumbledore himself, on top of that.

“Good lad,” his father praised. His smile was genuine, but it was thin.

“Oh, that’s enough now, Lyall,” Hope Lupin scolded, looking a little ashamed of herself. “We’re being silly, aren’t we? This is supposed to be an exciting and special day. I’m sorry, Remus, dear.”

“’s alright,” he mumbled. This was most certainly a lie, as he was beginning to feel a bit overwhelmed and panicked amongst so many people, but his mother did not latch on to his distress. Her joy was radiant. She beamed at him with such pride he couldn’t help but feel his anxiety ebb away again.

“Let’s get you aboard, then,” Remus’s father said. “It’s nearly eleven, and you wouldn’t want to miss this ride for the world.”

Remus offered a faltering smile, his heart pitter-pattering. Father had met his dearest friends on his first trip to school, and the thought of what that might mean for Remus…

Before he knew it, Mother drew him into a fierce embrace, and he was surprised to see her eyes misting when she drew away to brush his hair from his face. “Do have a great term, love,” she said. “Be good, remember to study hard and have a little fun, and don’t forget to write, otherwise you’ll have me to answer to.”

The mock-threat encouraged a true grin from Remus, and he nodded earnestly. There was a subtle hint of humor in his tone when he responded, “Love you, too, Mother.”

“Go on, now,” she said, wiping her cheek. “Your father’s waiting.”

Remus gave her one last hug and stepped away, ignoring the lump growing in his throat. Taking the first step away from her was one of the hardest things he’d ever done (and that was saying quite a bit), but he couldn’t look back at her. If he did, he might not make it on the train.

Remus avoided a swarm of people and approached his father, who had stowed his trunk away while he was saying goodbye to his mum. Even though the energy of Platform 9 ¾ was catching, it was plainly obvious to Remus that Father was just as worried about this as he had been a month ago, on the day Albus Dumbledore invited himself in for tea.

Father didn’t seem to know what to say, so he merely gripped Remus’s shoulder in a show of solid encouragement. Most students were jumping aboard by now, and several were already leaning precariously out the windows to wave at their families. Father and Remus watched them in silence.

“I…never would have thought,” Father finally breathed, his eyes trained on the bold letters adorning the platform sign overhead. Remus wasn’t sure he was meant to hear, so he didn’t address it when Father’s gaze swung back to him. “We’ll miss you, Remus,” he said, causing Remus’ gut to twist. “Take care.”

_And be careful._

“You too, Father,” Remus said.

His father scanned Remus’ face. Remus knew him well enough to know he was ensuring the message had been received and taken to heart.

The train suddenly released a shrill whistle, a warning for the last-second stragglers.

Father’s eyes lit up, making him look years younger. His haggard features, dark with misgivings, smoothed as excitement took hold. “Go on!” he exclaimed, shooing Remus up the train steps. “Remember, I want to hear all about the Sorting, Remus! I've always had a feeling you’d—”

Remus didn’t get to hear what Father had always had a feeling about. The train’s second whistle and the roar of steam drowned out the rest of his exclamation. The train shuddered beneath Remus’ feet and started to move, and Remus grabbed a metal bar alongside the steps to maintain his balance. Backing up further onto the train, which was gaining speed, he looked up in time to see Father waving, and he waved back at him and then at his mother, who was no longer trying to hide her elated tears.

“Get up, lad!” someone behind him said. A young man in a scarlet uniform with shining gold buttons smiled down at him. “Don’ wan‘cha fallin’ off the train now, do we?”

Remus followed the instructions mechanically, looking back out the nearest window toward his parents once he was safely off the train steps. They were lost amongst a sea of family members, all waving goodbye, and when the train turned the corner, it left Platform 9 ¾ and any chance at turning back far, far behind.

Remus’ hands were trembling, and he exhaled shakily. He was going. He was really on his way to Hogwarts.

It wasn’t surreal any longer. Now that it was real, he was terrified. So many things could go wrong. The Headmaster had put most of those fears to rest, but there were so many other circumstances and issues Remus couldn’t possibly foresee, things he couldn’t possibly handle alone. God forbid the carefully laid plans and allowances were discovered…

Or worse. Between the marks and the…symptoms, there was so much evidence and only so little he could do to hide it all.

 _We can take you back home any time you want, love_ , his mother had assured him. _But if I’m not mistaken…you’ll hardly find yourself missing home once you get there._

She had been so happy when Albus Dumbledore explained there was a place for Remus at Hogwarts. Father, too, though he could scarcely believe it. His parents, after all, were the ones who had to put on solemn faces whenever Remus asked why he couldn’t play outside, why he had to wear long-sleeves out in the summer, and why they had to move again. They were the ones who dealt with… _it_ month after month, who told him with deadened expressions and cracked voices it might not ever be possible…

His fingers stroked the smooth wood of his wand.

Remus squared his shoulders and stepped away from the window. The crewmember had disappeared, so he had no awkward questions or sympathetic eyes to avoid as he boldly pushed open the doors leading to the first car of compartments.

Where he met another beast entirely.

Whatever form of courage possessed him to step through those doors felt as though it had been Vanished. With wide eyes, he watched Hogwarts students pass between compartments and adjacent cars, laughing and chasing each other, greeting friends and acquaintances alike.

There was no hope of finding a free compartment, Remus realized. None at all. He cast a wary eye into the chaos, unwilling to take the step forward. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad to politely ask someone to join them? He wouldn’t be a bother. What would he be able to talk to them about, anyway? Not that he expected anyone to want to talk to—

“Uh—Um, h—hello? Pardon me?”

Startled, Remus blinked and looked toward the speaker, a short, rather plump blond boy with small blue eyes and a rather unfortunate nose. Irony always did love to have a place in Remus’ life, and since he was not quite amused with its humor at the best of times, Remus spun around, just to be sure the boy was speaking to him.

There was no one else standing nearby. He had to admit to himself that irony won this round. “Good day?” Remus said hesitantly, his greeting coming out more like a question.

The boy smiled weakly and licked his lips. “Are…are you a first year?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Oh!” the boy exclaimed, looking relieved. “Oh, thank Merlin. I thought I was the only first year stuck without a compartment!” Eagerly, the boy stuck out his hand and grinned. “Peter Pettigrew.”

Somewhat baffled, Remus took the pudgy, unblemished hand and shook. “Remus. Remus Lupin.”

The boy—Peter—turned to look down the corridor, which was beginning to clear out. Everyone was settling into their seats for the duration of the trip. Confronted with the obstacle of finding a place to sit once again, Peter’s enthusiasm died, and unease replaced it. He fidgeted and stuttered, “Remus? I know we…but…Would…would you mind terribly if…?”

Remus caught on immediately, and gratitude surged through him. Before he knew it, he was saying, “I’d love to join you.”

Peter looked stunned that he agreed. In fact, he looked so stunned Remus almost burst into a fit of laughter. “T—Thank you, Remus.”

Together, the boys worked their way down each car’s corridor, searching for a compartment that was relatively empty. It was by nonverbal consensus that the two avoided compartments with older students, but the trip down to the end of the train was anything but silent. Peter, who warmed up to Remus very quickly, rambled about everything: topics ranged from his favorite pudding to the realization he’d forgotten the extra socks his mother had laundered for him that morning.

Remus attempted to contribute to the conversation, but he felt awfully out of his depth. He was afraid Peter would find him dull and look for someone else to talk to, but the nods and quiet murmurs he offered seemed to keep Peter entertained enough. By the time they reached the end of the train, Remus was sure Peter had gone through his whole life story.

And Remus would be lying if he said he hadn't absorbed every word.

“Wh—what about you, Remus?” Peter asked as they entered the last car of the train, suddenly sounding shy again.

“Me?” Remus asked.

“No, the Remus standing behind you,” Peter shot off.

Remus stared, causing Peter to redden, and when it registered the other boy had made a joke, he laughed. The apology Peter was about to make died in his throat as Remus chuckled, “Not a very common name, is it? Sorry, Peter.”

Now aware that Remus wasn’t offended, Peter looked pleased with himself. “My cousins are a bit snarky,” he preened excitedly. “I spent most of the summer with them, you see, and—”

The compartment to their right flew open with a loud bang. Peter squeaked in surprise, and Remus jumped back just in time to avoid the two first-years storming out. One of the two, a very pretty girl with red hair and vibrant green eyes, slammed the door shut again and raged, “I can’t believe those two gi—Oh!”

When she saw Remus and Peter standing there, she stopped ranting, the wrath disappearing from her fine features. Her companion hardly passed them a second glance and hovered like a bird of prey at her shoulder. Unfortunately, the comparison would probably strike far too close to home if Remus voiced it aloud, for the sallow fellow had an even more unfortunate nose than Peter had. Remus felt bad for thinking so, and he ducked his head docilely, ready to apologize for standing in their way.

The girl sniffed as though something had grievously offended her, but to Remus’ surprise, she didn’t berate them. Instead, she asked, “Are you two looking for a compartment?”

Peter ignored the girl. Staring at the taller boy, who obviously did not want anything to do with them, he shrunk against Remus’ side. He was so close, in fact, that Remus flinched away, unused to such close contact. Unsure of what to say to the unlikely pair, he merely nodded.

“Well, if I were you,” the girl said, “I’d avoid _this_ one.”

Remus peeked into the compartment the two had just left. Inside sat two dark-haired boys. One leaned forward, glasses glinting as he gesticulated. The other sprawled across the seat, lazily twirling his wand in his fingers. He didn't look too impressed or pleased with what the other was telling him.

This was the emptiest compartment he’d seen yet. Remus’ gut dropped at the prospect of intruding, especially on what seemed like a debate, but it made him feel even more ill to think of how awkward it would be to make the long walk back down through the cars. Quite a few people might notice, he realized in dismay. Remus might not have much social experience, but he did know that, should anyone take notice of his and Peter’s second pass down the corridors, it would set them apart from their peers.

No one else had this much trouble finding a place, after all.

Remus had more than enough setting him apart already. After a quick mental debate, he decided that interrupting these two boys was the lesser of two evils…or rather, the easier of two obstacles.

“I think this one’ll do, don’t you, Peter?” Remus asked softly, hoping desperately for the other boy to agree. Despite what he might have told himself, he wasn’t about to go in there alone.

Peter bobbed his head up and down, and Remus felt another rush of gratitude toward the boy.

The girl chewed on her lower lip. “The boys in there aren’t too kind,” she admitted. “I’d stay far away from them. You’re first-years, aren’t you? Why don’t you join me and Severus?”

Severus did not look very pleased at all with that suggestion, so Remus was quick to say, “No, thank you. I’m sure we’ll see you at the Start-of-Term Feast later?”

Remus felt exposed under her steady, compassionate gaze. She studied him for a moment and finally shrugged, turning her attention back to Severus. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you. C’mon, Sev.”

The two departed without another word, leaving Remus with the sinking feeling he’d perhaps made a mistake.

No. Remus shut the thought down the moment it appeared in his mind. Everything…he had to believe everything happened for a reason, even if that reason was never in visible sight. Father hated it when he thought like that. He seemed to believe Remus thought he deserved what happened to him, but that was hardly the case. It was the only thing that kept him sane sometimes, during the rougher months, when Father’s stories and his dreams could only do so much.

Besides, he made this choice. People like him didn’t have that luxury. Some believed that people like him didn’t _deserve_ that luxury. But he chose, so he was the one who had to deal with the consequences. His heart pounded in his chest as he faced the compartment door again, but Remus was surprised to find it wasn’t so scary as it was liberating. He so very rarely had any say in his life…

Remus did not consult Peter before sliding the door open. As he poked his head in, he took a deep breath.

He didn’t have the chance to stammer out a single syllable.

"...easy for you to say!” the taller boy was saying indignantly, “You spoilt Gryffindor braggar—!"

"Oi! You better watch your mouth there, Black!” the bespectacled boy ordered, hazel eyes flashing. “I'm just trying to—"

"Help me?” Black scowled, shaking his shaggy head of hair. “Right, that's precious. No offense, but I don’t particularly _care_ what you’re trying to do.”

The other boy’s expression became cold and guarded. “You will care when you—!”

Remus, growing uncomfortable with the tension between the two, decided it would be in his best interest to knock.

When he did, the bespectacled boy made a wordless exclamation and leapt from his seat, completely unaware (or uncaring) of Remus’ eavesdropping. “Brilliant! See, now we can have another opinion, Sirius!” he said with a crooked smile.

Sirius Black shot a skeptical glance at Remus and shrugged. “Just give it up, Potter. We’ll just have to see, won’t we?”

“I—” Remus tried to say, completely taken aback when ‘Potter’ took ahold of his forearm to lead him inside the compartment.

Hazel eyes turned to him. “You don’t mind giving us your opinion here, do you?”

“Er, no. No, of course not,” Remus stammered, turning halfway around in search of Peter, “But I—er…”

The boy caught sight of Peter, and his grin broadened. “ _Two_ opinions, then. Even better. Come in!”

Peter followed Remus in, closing the door behind him. “O—opinions about?” he squeaked as Potter motioned them to sit down.

“Sirius here is convinced he’s going to be in Slytherin,” Potter said, his tone making it clear the thought was absolutely criminal.

“I never said that!” the boy named Sirius denied.

“Well, he _implied_ it, which is the same thing, and I don’t believe a single word of it. I’m absolutely positive he won’t land there, even if this one insists his entire family’s been in Slytherin.”

“Only the ones that matter,” Sirius muttered under his breath. Remus caught a bitterness in his tone that did not quite hide the dread and doubt lying underneath it. “Not all Slytherins are bad,” he defended. “My cousin ‘Dromeda isn’t.”

Potter hummed cheerfully. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that and move on.” Addressing Remus and Peter again, he continued, “I’ve been trying to convince him that blood has nothing to do with the Sorting.”

"Hypocrite. Weren't you just saying you were going to follow your forefathers into Gryffindor?"

“Of course I did, but I’m not going to be Sorted into Gryffindor because they’re family. It’s because I know I’m Gryffindor material. Just like they were.”

“That doesn’t make sense, mate.”

"Can't help that I am more self-aware than you are," Potter snapped.

"Try arrogant!” Sirius snorted. “You just don't like thinking you befriended a Slytherin!"

"You're not a Slytherin yet!” Potter exclaimed. “Perhaps you are just as bigoted and intolerant as the rest of your kind and _you’re_ the one who doesn't like thinking you befriended a Gryffindor!"

At the mention of his family, Sirius paled, but to Remus' surprise, he threw back his head and laughed, almost spitefully, "You're so full of it, Potter!"

Potter pretended as though he hadn't heard. "And like I said, I doubt you'll end up in Slytherin, even if your insults are as bad as any snake's I've ever met. We'll work on that."

Sirius blinked at him incredulously. "You don't like admitting you're wrong, do you?"

"That's because I'm not," Potter said smugly. "You're no snake."

"My entire family were _snakes_ , as you put it," Sirius reminded him.

"Do you want to be in Slytherin?"

Sirius, Potter, and Peter all turned to Remus, who flushed upon realizing he’d been the one to ask the honest question.

“That’s not the point,” Sirius muttered, the fire dying from his eyes. “Just nevermind. We’ll _see_ , okay?”

“I don’t see why this is an issue,” Potter pressed.

“Because you’re making it one!” Sirius snapped. “Why don’t we drop it and play a game of Exploding Snap?”

“Exploding Snap sounds nice,” Peter piped up, sounding utterly grateful for the reprieve. “We do have enough people for a good game.”

“See?” Sirius said. “You were the one just telling me how brilliant you were at it, so I’d like to see you put your Galleons where your mouth is.”

Potter’s eyes glinted at the prospect of a competition, but he wouldn’t take the bait that easily. He refused to acknowledge Sirius’ suggestion. “I mean,” he continued, “it’s not as though your parents are going to disown you if you’re _not_ in Slytherin. Mine wouldn’t if I wasn’t in Gryffindor.”

And with that, Remus thought, Potter hit the issue directly with a Stunner. With wary eyes, he watched the two dark-haired boys, one obtusely unaware of the conflict and vulnerability the other was trying so desperately to hide.

A part of Remus told him now would be a good time to intercede again, to take the pressure off of Sirius, but he couldn’t be sure the two—or _three_ , seeing as Peter seemed to glorify in the easy acceptance he received here—wouldn’t take offense and ostracize him for the remainder of the ride to Hogwarts.

“How about you two?” Potter suddenly asked, sparing Remus from making the decision to speak up or not. “Where d’you suppose you’ll end up?”

It took a moment for the question to register. Remus hadn't expected it, though he should have, considering this was probably reason Potter invited him and Peter into their compartment in the first place. Nevertheless, his thoughts tumbled to a grinding halt. _Which House?_ he repeated to himself. Father had had friends in all of the Houses, and though Remus had lived through those stories, getting Sorted hadn't been a consideration in his dreams either.

He took too long to formulate a coherent answer, so Peter took the lead, eyes shining at the prospect of being given the limelight. “No idea,” Peter launched off cheerily. “Dad…” He trailed off, looking momentarily disconcerted, but he only skipped a beat. “Well, Dad was sent abroad for school. Mum was a Hufflepuff. I expect that’s where I'll end up."

Potter nodded sagely. “And I expect she wouldn’t care at all which House you were in, would she?”

“Oh, no,” Peter agreed. “Hufflepuffs are a tolerant lot, you know.”

Potter exchanged a glance with Sirius, who scowled. Remus couldn’t be certain of the point he was trying to make whatsoever.

“And you?” Potter asked Remus.

All three boys turned to look at him. Anxious under their eyes, Remus stared at his scuffed shoes. “I…haven’t thought about it,” he answered honestly.

This, it seemed, was blasphemy at its finest. Perhaps even worse than saying he was destined for Slytherin. There were several exclamations of disbelief and childish horror. Even Sirius forgot his surliness in his curiosity.

“ _Really_?” he asked, gray eyes wide. “Hang on, now. You’re not Muggleborn, are you? What’s your family name?”

“Lupin,” Remus admitted.

“I recognize that name,” Potter said with a thoughtful frown. Snapping his fingers, he said, “My parents’ve mentioned it before. Recently, in fact.”

“Don’t hurt yourself there, James,” Sirius teased, snickering at James’ contemplative expression. Remus noted the change from surname to given name and wondered...

“It’s perfectly acceptable if you don’t know the name and occupation of every wizarding family’s patriarch," Sirius was saying. "It’s not as though you’re heir to an Ancient and Noble House, next in line for a venerable seat on the Wizengamot—a heir whose duty it is to know these things, I might add—or anyth—”

James Potter lobbed his carry-on bag at Sirius, who released an _oomph_ when it collided with his stomach.“I’d like to see you do better, Black,” James grumbled. “Though I’m sure watching you try to use those brains of yours would be more terrifying than—Oh!” He cut himself off, turning back to Remus with a big grin. “The Boggart! We had a Boggart, and since Dad was out when Mum found it, she consulted Lyall Lupin’s book. Best there is, apparently. She’s quite the hand at Charms, but Defense Against the Dark Arts was never her forte. She praised your father’s name to anyone who’d listen for the rest of the week!”

“Wow, Remus,” Peter breathed. “I didn’t know your father was famous!”

“We’ve only just met, Peter,” Remus reminded humbly, causing Sirius and James to stare and then burst into chuckles of delight.

“It’s always the quiet ones!” James crowed.

“I think I’m going to like you, Remus Lupin,” Sirius added, eyes dancing mischievously.

Remus wasn’t quite sure what they were on about, but he felt a warm glow spread through his chest just the same. _So this is what it’s like_ , he mused.

James leaned forward so that his elbows rested upon his knees. Energetically, he asked, “You know, Remus, wasn’t your father in consideration to become the next Head for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures?”

Funny, how quickly reality could come crashing down again. Remus knew his father was renowned for his research on Non-Human Spiritous Apparitions, and he was a powerful wizard with credentials galore for the coveted position at the Ministry. It had created quite a stir when Father refused the position and then quit the department altogether.

Remus wasn’t about to tell them it was his fault.

“Yes,” he said, biting his lip. “Years ago. But he transferred to the Department of Mysteries, where he could continue his research. He says he’s happier there.”

Sirius crinkled his nose. “Fond of research, is he? Bound to be a Ravenclaw.”

“Got it in one.”

“So you didn’t ever once think,” James said, “that you might follow your dad’s footsteps and end up in Ravenclaw?”

Remus hesitated. He could see why it looked very strange, and in scrambling for a lie, he found himself settling on the truth. “I was homeschooled,” he said, trying to sound as though it was a commonplace enough thing. “I wasn’t sure I was going to go to Hogwarts this…year.”

At that very moment, Remus processed the true root of James’ question and recalled what his father tried to tell him before the train took off from the station. It seemed too easy to fill in the remaining blanks now. Little signs since Dumbledore’s visit, as well… How could he have missed it?

“Father thinks I’ll be in Ravenclaw,” he realized aloud. “He didn’t say it, but I…”

“Ravenclaw’s respectable,” Sirius said carefully, and Remus looked up to meet intense gray eyes, no longer alight with humor. “Do you want to be in Ravenclaw?”

His question mirrored Remus' own. “I…” He didn’t know. He hadn’t cared. Not…not until now. “I don’t want to disappoint him,” Remus ended up blurting out. After nearly a lifetime of disappointing him, getting Sorted into Ravenclaw was the very least he could do. It was maybe one of the only things he could do.

Wasn’t it?

James, sensing the mood of the compartment darkening, began to go on another cheery spiel about blood, Houses, and how it was down to the individual. It sounded much like the one Peter and Remus had walked in on. Peter clung to every word and added a few words of agreement here and there, but Remus Lupin and Sirius Black exchanged a single glance and knew they shared something the other two didn’t.

They each had a secret, something fueling a _need_ to follow their parents’ footsteps, regardless of what they wanted.

“…Your mum, Remus?” James was asking.

Remus only heard his name, and he jolted back to the present. “Sorry?”

“Your mother,” Peter repeated for James. “Where was she Sorted?”

“Oh,” Remus said, smiling softly. “She wasn’t Sorted anywhere. She’s Muggle.”

“Muggle?” Sirius asked. James looked at him sharply, hazel eyes blazing with a scathing warning, but Sirius took no notice. In fact, he was positively beaming with enthusiasm. “You must have alack-tri-sity, then!”

“Electricity?” Remus corrected with an amused smile. When Sirius nodded, he said, “Yeah, Mum’s got the house wired for it.”

“We’ve got it, too!” Peter said. Sirius turned to him, looking surprised. “Mum’s a half-blood. Like Remus. Can’t live without her telly, she says. She’s addicted to that program with the funny man in the blue box.”

Sirius looked just about ready to burst from his seat, and questions tumbled from his lips so quickly he could hardly finish one before starting another. Peter and Remus could hardly keep up, but before long, the two boys were trying very hard not to laugh.

James, for his part, gaped at Sirius, who kept up a steady stream of chatter, for a solid two minutes before laughing uproariously. “I would have never believed it,” James gasped, clutching at his side. “A Black who's likely to be the first to sign up for Muggle Studies his third year! And you _still_ think you're on for Slytherin?"

“Muggles are clever,” Sirius said in his defense, ignoring the jibe. “You can’t tell me you aren’t the _least_ bit curious about their techylogy.”

“I’m not the least bit curious about their techylogy,” James deadpanned.

At that point, Remus couldn’t even keep a straight enough face to correct their terminology. He had never laughed so hard in his life.

And he continued to laugh, growing bolder and more comfortable in the company of these three boys as the hours slipped by. It wasn’t until well after the trolley stopped by and a Prefect poked her head in to warn them they were pulling into Hogsmeade soon that Remus realized…he had forgotten.

He had forgotten the last time he laughed and smiled as much as he did during that train ride. He had forgotten the girl who had warned him and Peter against entering that compartment. He had forgotten his doubts, his fears, and all comparisons to his wildest fantasies.

Remus, in fact, didn’t fully realize the enormity of it all until he exited the train and looked up at the quarter-moon overhead. The dull ache in his bones couldn’t faze him today.

No, not today.

His kind weren’t meant to go to Hogwarts. His kind weren’t meant to own wands or appear in any sort of civilized society. It was only by the grace of Dumbledore and his exceptional disregard for bias and written law that Remus was here. Dumbledore offered him something special, something normal children took for granted, but it wasn’t Dumbledore who’d done what Peter Pettigrew, Sirius Black, and James Potter had.

They had helped Remus forget that he was a werewolf at all.

Later that night, after they rode across the lake together with Hagrid and caught their first sight of the magnificent castle and after they each sat anxiously beneath the brim of the Sorting Hat, Remus looked around his Gryffindor dormitory at his three new bickering, laughing friends—all quite a bit rough around the edges—and felt that, just maybe, he was right where he was meant to be after all.

 

 

 


	2. Phase II: A Full Moon

 

* * *

_~A time for shadows to be exposed and truth to be illuminated, when there is promise, clarity...and perhaps even acceptance~_

* * *

It had only been a matter of time.

Remus had known this since the beginning, yet here he was, cowering in a corner of the library as though he could hide from it forever.

He wondered, not for the first time, if the Sorting Hat hadn’t made a huge mistake. Gryffindors didn’t _hide_. They faced their fears, their problems, and just about everything else that life threw at them without cringing. And most of them were brave (or crazy) enough to do it with a smile too. Sirius and James had proven that time and time again, and Peter had, too, if in quiet and unassuming, but nonetheless powerful, ways.

Remus, on the other hand...Only a coward would wait for the inevitable, instead of rising to meet it on his own terms.

But he couldn’t. He couldn’t face them. He couldn’t face his own mates.

The mere _thought_ of stepping outside of his little alcove filled him with a fear so petrifying he was going to risk Madam Lowry’s wrath and stow away in the library overnight. If she didn’t catch him before closing hours, that is. Though she downright spoiled O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. students, she did have a strangely masterful ability to locate and evict younger students from her domain, so Remus highly doubted his plan would succeed, and that—that meant…He could sleep in the corridor? Surely there was a quiet nook somewhere.

Either way. He wouldn’t return to the Tower tonight, or any other night, regardless of whether his mates found him or not. He probably wouldn’t be at Hogwarts for much longer, anyway.

Because there was no way they didn’t know. They were too clever by half—far, far too clever—and that’s not to mention they were also far too observant, obstinate, and protective. And they were, perhaps (though James and Sirius would positively cringe to hear him say it), the teensiest bit overbearing.

Some would add _nosy_ to the list. Remus didn’t belong to that collective “some,” of course.

(That was sarcasm. At its finest.) 

The first full moon of their second year, Remus had been somewhat lucky. It had fallen on the third of September, just days after everyone arrived back at Hogwarts. The ride to Hogwarts had been nowhere near as pleasant as the previous year’s. It had been so bad, in fact, he’d almost wished he’d taken up his parents’ offer to arrange a different mode of transportation for him. McGonagall had even gone so far as to appeal to Dumbledore to formally excuse him from the first week of school, but he had been insistent he join everyone else on the train.

 His friends had been concerned by his listlessness, but aside from asking if he was alright and pestering him with offers to get him food from the trolley, they hadn’t pushed him for information. When it had become far too obvious he was unable to stomach the loud celebrations and the rich aromas of the Feast, they had actually helped him to the Hospital Wing the very same night. No excuses necessary.

Madam Pomfrey had made a fuss over it all, and that month’s transformation hadn’t been the prettiest.

He had been thoroughly convinced they’d figure it out then, but when he had returned to class on September 6th, trembling and incapable of speaking beyond a stutter, they hadn’t asked him a thing—not about the days he missed, not about the limp he had, not about any of it. They’d offered him notes and joked around as though nothing had happened.

Remus hadn't liked it one bit. For all that he was relieved they didn’t seem to _know_ , their behavior ended up making him more nervous and paranoid. Suspicious, even.

Sirius hadn’t been able to keep up a façade of "normalcy" for longer than the day. The moment they were back in the privacy of their dormitory, he had confronted Remus about the complex knot of lies he'd told over the course of their first year.

It was then—when the knot was untangled and all three of them were so obviously disappointed in him—that Remus had decided he couldn’t, _wouldn’t_ do it anymore.

“No more lies,” Remus had told them in a quavering, nearly nonexistent voice. “No more.” 

“Promise?” Sirius had asked.

“Promise.” 

At which point, Sirius had demanded to know what was going on, only for Remus to swallow his tongue and fidget in terrified silence as the three of them had stared him down, waiting for a response he wouldn’t give easily.

No one had been willing to break the silence. Peter had been nearly as fidgety as Remus, but Sirius and James had obviously been testing Remus’ resolve. Remus, for his part, had just wanted it to end.

Surprisingly, it had been James who’d broken the extended silence. With a nod, he had turned to the other two and said, “At least he’s not lying.”

Remus had gone to bed that night with a stinging heart.

Somehow, that had been the end of it. Well, almost the end of it. He had been able to feel their curious, pitying, and concerned gazes on him for the rest of the month, during which his motivation for schoolwork took a turn for the worse and his smiles were few and far between.

If the others had noticed his distance and diminished attention span, they hadn’t given a sign, but Remus hadn’t been fooled. He knew how they operated. He knew that they had been doing their utmost to keep him in the dark. It was simple diversion. They knew he didn’t want them to know what was going on, so they pretended _they_ didn’t want to know. The idea had been to lead him into a sense of false security. 

When he wasn't looking, though, they had been trying to fit the puzzle pieces together. Researching. Cataloguing. Observing. Like he was some sort of endangered zoo animal.

His anxious behavior and dropping grades, paired with the symptoms he’d displayed over the last year, had given them plenty to speculate about, he was sure. It should have angered him, that they were treating him like this, that they were so close to ruining something he treasured above all else, but…

Even now, when everything was about to fall apart, he couldn’t. He couldn’t be angry with them. They didn't deserve that. He was the one who had lied and abused their trust, and he was the one who deserved whatever was coming.

So he prepared. During the rest of September, Remus had begun internalizing every last cruel and derogatory thing he’d heard thrown his way since he’d been four years old. He had tried to build a wall around his heart, a defense of apathy and acceptance…so maybe it wouldn’t hurt so much when his mates took the battering ram to their friendship and cut him from their lives like a malignant tumor.

_…Merlin’s beard._

His forehead hit the book lying in front of him. He was going to be sick. He really was going to be sick all over, and he’d lose any chance to escape Madam Lowry when she closed the library for the night.

He inhaled deeply, hoping the scent of worn parchment and old ink would calm him. It did, if only marginally, and after a few more deep breaths, he rolled his face out of the nameless book to check the magical grandfather clock nearby.

He had been released from Madam Pomfrey’s care just under three hours ago. Three hours had passed. The library closed in an hour. He hadn’t done a single iota of work while recovering from October’s moon, which had been just as, if not worse, than September’s, and tomorrow was Wednesday. Or Thursday? He couldn’t quite remember, but he knew he had class tomorrow. Bloody hell, second-year Gryffindors had Potions on Wednesdays. When was that Sleeping Draught practical again? Did he miss it?

Had _three hours_ really passed?

They should have found him by now. Where _were_ they? 

The moment the thought crossed his mind, Remus knew he was fooling himself. It wasn’t as though his entrance into the library hadn’t been noticed. Several fellow second-years had greeted him—remarked they missed seeing him in class, even—and word traveled fast at Hogwarts, if one merely asked the right questions. James, Peter, and Sirius were probably searching for him right now.

The awful thing of it was: he realized a part of him wanted them to find him, just so he could finally be relieved of this awful anticipation. He wasn't sure what to make of that. It probably made him seem more like the cowardly lion of Gryffindor than he thought.

The seconds ticked by, and Remus was profoundly aware of that hand _tick-ticking_ away on the floating grandfather clock. He counted each and every _tick,_ and as everything else fell away,the words of his book blurred and shifted before his eyes.

He hadn’t meant to fall asleep on top of the book he was meant to be reading…or rather, _pretending_ to be reading. The transformation took its toll at the best of times, so it was unsurprising, really, especially when his body was also recovering from the extensive healing magic it had been subjected to.

What _was_ surprising was that he wasn’t rudely jolted awake by a crazy old witch who wanted to lock the library up for the night. No, he awoke to soft whispering, a gentle call of his name, and an even gentler shake on the shoulder.

Groaning, he lifted his head from the crook of his elbow. The glow from the lantern above his table was low and dim, so he didn’t quite register several someones hovering just beyond the circle of light until a second book was placed on the table…and slid toward him. 

Confused and half-asleep, Remus didn’t think to question it. He pushed his own book away and drew the offered one forward, only to see…

His fingers froze on the illustration. He didn’t move them, not even when the wolf pictured there ferociously leapt within the confines of the page to attack the places where his fingertips touched. Its long fangs flashed and snapped, dripping with long strands of saliva.

“It—it makes sense,” someone whispered.

Stomach rolling and heart constricting, Remus took a deep, shuddering breath and tore his gaze away from the book.

His mates were there, pulling James’ Invisibility Cloak from their shoulders and watching his reaction with cautious faces. They…they were…

_They knew._

There was no air in his lungs, and his mind was blank. For all the worrying and “preparing” he’d done, nothing— _absolutely nothing_ —could have helped him recover from reality’s blow. He couldn’t move, though he desperately wanted to flinch away from them. Close the book, at the very least. Surely he could save what remained of his dignity by closing the—

“What…Remus, what happened to your _face_?” Sirius asked suddenly.

Remus stared at Sirius, whose carefully composed expression crumbled, his eyebrows furrowing and lips pursing in concern as his gaze raked Remus’ hairline.

… _Concern?_

James and Peter followed Sirius’ gaze, and they, too, traced the nasty cut and yellowing bruises on his forehead with empathetic eyes.

_What…?_

Not understanding what was going on, Remus laughed, a dark bark of sound that had no business escaping his mouth. “That’s...that’s…”

_That’s what he asks? That’s the_ first thing _he asks?_

He couldn’t quite finish his thought aloud, and he felt almost giddy with disbelief and fear. “Stairs,” he answered.

James’ eyes narrowed. “I thought you said—”

“No more lies,” Peter finished, his voice no louder than a whisper.

He’d obviously used a stairs excuse before. A weird smile flitted at the corners of his lips, and the sarcastic response rolled off his tongue before he could stop himself. “Not lying this time. My face met some stairs. The stairs won.”

They blinked at him, looking lost and a bit perturbed, and Remus suddenly couldn’t look at them. The illustration writhed beneath his fingers, and his dark humor fled. These three boys held his reputation, his life, and what little future he had in their hands. He was completely within their power. In the eyes of the law, he wasn’t truly a wizard. He had no rights, and he was beneath them. He was technically the Ministry's problem to deal with, and last he heard, the Ministry had unofficially reclassified werewolves as “Beasts.” Again.

Beast or Being aside, there was always the stigma, the hatred, and the disgust. There was prejudice and fear and every foul and dirty thing in between.

And growing up in magical families, these three had never known anything different.

Forget getting thrown out of Hogwarts. He could easily be thrown into Azkaban. His father and Dumbledore, too, for harboring an unregistered werewolf.

Perhaps it wasn’t the best idea to be bitter or cheeky now.

“I—I mean…” Remus stuttered, swallowing hard. Panic threatened to seize his throat in its clawed hand. “I am not lying,” he ended up whispering. “Not this time.”

“Didn’t…Couldn’t Pomfrey…?” Peter tried to ask.

Remus shook his head, his throat dry. He was going to try to respond, but James did instead. “Healing magic can only do so much, right?” he asked rhetorically. His tone was methodical, emotionless, and his hazel eyes scanned Remus’ face carefully. “And…most of it probably went toward healing…toward the…”

“Cursed wounds,” Sirius murmured. He struggled to say it, nearly choking the two words out.

Remus’ mind locked down, shame coloring his cheeks, and he stared with unseeing eyes at his mates. Mates, no longer.

“So it’s true?” James breathed.

Something in their expressions changed as they waited for his response. There was a fire, a purpose. They didn’t so look lost, confused, or uncertain anymore, but Remus couldn’t mistake stirrings of what must have been rage and disgust.

He couldn’t answer them. And that was answer enough for them.

Heartbroken and horrified, Peter had obviously been hoping he’d deny it. His expression fell at the same time James’ cleared of all emotion, though it was obvious a storm was raging within. Sirius always did wear his heart on his sleeve, and Remus found it incredibly hard to look him in the eye when there was no mistaking the flurry of disgust, fury, despair, and pity flashing across his face.

“R—Remus…” Peter began.

“Why—what are you doing here?” Remus interrupted, his voice tiny and trembling.

It was suddenly imperative he knew. He knew they would confront him, but with the truth was at his very fingertips, in plain sight, Remus didn’t understand. They hadn’t flown into a frenzy of accusations. They weren’t screaming filthy names at him or cringing when he so much as moved. They weren’t threatening to break his wand or turn him in to Dumbledore or the Ministry, whose Werewolf Registry would be _quite_ interested to find a werewolf illegally attending Hogwarts, fraternizing with “normal” students and endangering them with his mere presence.

But they were here.

And his fate was in their hands.

Sirius looked around, brows rising. Some humor returned to his eyes. “Well, it’s the library, mate, and as students who have access to this fine establishment—”

“No, no,” Remus pressed. “Why…why are you _here_? Why…?”

“Remus,” Peter hushed gently. His voice was shaking, too, no matter how he tried to hide it. “It’s—it’s alri—”

“Nothing,” Remus said, watching the wolf pace its page, “about this is alright. Nothing.”

“Remus…”

He closed his eyes. “I’m a werewolf.”

 For some unfathomable reason, _he_ was the one to say it aloud first. It went against every instinct, every learned fear, and everything his father and society had taught him. Even though he felt as though he were going to throw up again, it was…

_Liberating. Terrifyingly liberating._ No matter what happened next, at least he could have this for himself.

 In a voice no louder than a whisper, he added, “And I lied to you.”

 It felt far less liberating and far more terrifying as the silence stretched on, no one willing, or able, to respond to Remus’s damning confession.

 A hand dropped onto his shoulder. Remus cringed under the touch, half-expecting a wand to come up to his jugular. When no wand appeared and he realized the hand wasn’t there to grab him by the scruff of the neck, he looked up to find Sirius, who offered him a faint smile.

“It makes sense,” he repeated. Slipping his hand from Remus’ shoulder, he scanned the area around them. “We shouldn’t do this here.”

James, following his friend’s train of thought, nodded. “Bad move on our part, mates. C’mon.” Shaking out the Invisibility Cloak and holding it above his head in an open invitation, he said to Remus, “Let’s go.”

Remus didn’t move. “Where—where are you…?” Remus stumbled over the words before realization struck him. Whatever courage the cowardly lion in him had mustered disappeared, and he bowed his head. Pleas began spewing from him like pus from a squeezed bubotuber. “Please. Please, I…I’ll pack. I’ll leave the dormitory. But no one can know. Please. I know that’s a lot to ask. It’s more than I deserve, but I just…I need to stay at Hogwarts. If—if not Hogwarts, then…Please, it’s—It’s my only—” 

“Remus!” Sirius interrupted. He looked shocked by Remus’ outburst. Scared, even. “Remus, calm down. What are you on about?”

“Breathe, mate,” James said. Without looking to the others for advice or help, James pulled out a chair at the table and sat across from Remus. He met and held Remus’ gaze steadily. “It’s alright,” he reassured. “Maybe we can do this here. Lowry’s…occupied. You chose the most secluded part of the library, no one else is here, and we have time. We’re not going anywhere. No one’s packing. And no one’s going to walk out of here until we’ve talked.”

“Talked?” Remus repeated numbly.

Sirius sat next to James, and Peter followed. “Talked,” the smaller boy reaffirmed.

The word echoed in his ears, hollow and unreal. “You want to _talk_ ,” Remus said distantly, “to a werewolf.”

 James and Sirius exchanged a glance. “There’re two things wrong with this right now,” Sirius said. “One: you need to stop calling yourself that.”

 A lump formed in Remus’ throat, tears pressing at the backs of his eyes, and for some reason, he recalled the first day they met on the train. James and Peter had tried to convince Sirius he was something—and someone—else, too. Someone he didn’t believe he was or could be. And they had been right. 

Remus almost wished they could be right about him too.

“Not saying it isn’t going to change anything,” Remus muttered. “I’m…I am what I am. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I lied. I’m a foul excuse for a—”

 “Y—you need to stop talking about yourself like that!” Peter interrupted. When the other three turned to stare at him, he dropped his gaze meekly. “That’s what Sirius meant. That—that’s what _we_ mean.”

“Black’s just doing a shoddy job of saying it,” James agreed.

Remus didn’t comprehend what they were saying either way. Surely…Surely…Remus felt as though he head-butted the Shrieking Shack staircase all over again.

They might know what he was, but they didn’t _understand._ They saw the picture, still resting under Remus’s palm, and they didn’t truly process it. They didn’t realize that he and that slavering beast were one and the same. “But—” he began to protest.

“Oi, no ‘but’s,” Sirius said. “I couldn’t care less about your ‘but’s right now.”

That elicited a snort from James, and Sirius rolled his eyes. “Oh, grow up,” he told James before turning to Remus again. “I haven’t gotten to point number two yet.”

“And what’s that?” Remus whispered.

“We don’t want to talk to just any werewolf. We want to talk to _this_ one.”  

“Why?”

Scandalized, James scoffed, “ _Why?”_ When Remus flinched at his harsh tone, his hazel eyes softened. “Remus. Remus, mate, look at me. We’ve been living with you for a year. We spent a good bit of the summer together."

“And we—we’ve been mates since the proverbial Day One,” Peter chimed in quietly.

“Didn’t realize you knew a word as complicated as ‘proverbial,’ Pete,” James said. “Much less how to use it correctly. Nice job.”

Sirius ignored James and Peter’s dialogue. “Did you seriously think,” he said, a lopsided grin working its way onto his face, “that just because you…go a little moony once a month—”

“ _Moony?_ ” Remus asked, almost startled into laughing despite himself.

“I was going to call it his ‘furry little problem,’” James mused.

Sirius looked like he was going to begin teasing James for coming up with so ludicrous a euphemism, but Remus knew the conversation would be horribly derailed if they did. Peter seemed to know that as well, for he completed Sirius’ thought for him.

“D—did you think we weren’t going to care about you anymore, Remus?” he asked, blue eyes shining.

“It’s…it’s more than me going _moony_ every month,” Remus started slowly, trying to remember that they didn’t understand…they didn’t _mean_ it. He couldn’t afford to hold hope that everything would be okay. Because it wouldn’t. “It’s more than a _little_ problem.”

Sirius and James had the grace to look sheepish, and spurred on by their attentive gazes, Remus was finally able to make his fingers respond to his will. He shoved the book back at the three of them, pointedly forcing them to look at the werewolf there. “This is what I am,” he murmured. “Once a month, I lose my mind, and there’s nothing I can do about it. There’s no controlling it. Nothing helps. Nothing _worked._ Nothing…And we’ve tried everything…we’ve tried and tried…”

Remus trailed off, unable to put to words just how many sacrifices his family had made for him in their search for a ‘cure.’ Words were too simple. Everything he couldn’t say was perfectly explained by the complexity of the silence that followed.

James was the first to speak, eyes trained on the picture. “How long?”

 “I…wasn’t even five years old,” Remus murmured, unconsciously slipping his fingers to his left shoulder, where the scar wrapped around to his upper back.

“I’m sorry,” Sirius said, hardly sounding sorry at all. His words bit and stung, and when Remus sensed those furious grey eyes on his shoulder, he withdrew his hand as though it had been pricked by a Shrake spine. “Did you just say _five years old?_ ”

 Remus knew the statistics. The mortality rate for such a bite at that age was high, to say the least. He knew he was lucky to have survived, lucky to have so powerful a wizard for a father and so selfless a Muggle for a mother. Otherwise…

 “Bloody _hell_ ,” Sirius cursed, cold fury leaking from every pore. His entire form quaked, and Peter stopped gaping at Remus when Sirius leapt from his chair, knocking it over in the process. “ _Bloody hell_. Who did it?” he demanded. “Do you know? I hope the bastard’s locked up for what he did to you!”

 It took a moment to process that Sirius wasn’t upset at _him_ for being the freak to defy all statistics and survive the bite. He was upset because he was bitten. He was upset at the…

 “No,” Remus said urgently. “No, Sirius, stop. You can’t—you can’t blame…”

 “You’re _defending_ it?” James snapped, and for the first time, he was looking at Remus as though he were a stranger, the curl in his upper lip suggesting a hint of a snarl. “After what it did to you?"

 “He isn’t an _it._ ”

 Peter released a soft squeak of a gasp at the forcefulness of Remus’ declaration, and even James and Sirius, who normally fed off each other’s energy in such a way it made them deaf to everyone else, stared.

“You don’t understand,” Remus said, strangely uncowed. Ignoring the niggling sensation at the back of his mind, he said the very same thing he’d told himself time and time again to fill the blanks in his memory. “It was an accident. Just an accident. He couldn’t control himself. He didn’t know, and I was…in the wrong place at the wrong time. It…could have happened to anyone. At anytime.”

 “You were _five years old_ ,” Peter whispered, his voice strained.

“He wasn’t restrained well enough that night,” Remus emphasized, almost desperately. “Maybe he was in hiding and didn’t have anyone to aid him. I can’t blame him. I know how it feels, how it _is._ Not...not everyone is as lucky as I am.”

Remus didn’t expect to see their gobsmacked expressions, and he certainly didn’t expect to see the dawning respect and awe shining from their eyes.

“You…forgave him?” Peter asked. “Even...even though…?” He gestured vaguely at Remus, unsure how to continue on, and Remus had the feeling he was referring to his self-inflicted injuries.

“I…I’ve tried to,” Remus admitted softly. “Not condemning someone is far different than forgiving them.”

“But you don’t know,” Sirius realized out loud. “You don’t know who i— _he_ was.”

 “I don’t _want_ to know who he was,” Remus said. “I can’t…No. I’d rather not know.”

 “What…what if he’s still out there?” James asked. “Biting others?”

 Remus’ lips twisted into a disdainful frown. “He’d be put down, wouldn’t he? Too easily tracked. The Ministry isn’t stupid.”

 “They’re certainly stupid enough to miss you,” Sirius pointed out, his glee at the fact dulling any lingering anger.

And with the spotlight back on him, Remus bit his bottom lip, wincing violently. He realized he never understood what it was they were doing here, why they were talking to someone whose disease made him no more than filth, and it terrified him all over again. “That’s because no one knows. That’s why you mustn’t tell,” he begged.

The three boys, pensive and somber, glanced at each other.

Remus’ heart leapt to his throat. “It’s not only about me,” he entreated. “My parents, Dumbledore…”

“Oh, so he does know,” James said casually. “We thought so."

“The other professors, too?” Sirius guessed.

“Some of them,” Remus said. “But that’s not the point—”

“Well, I think it’s a pretty important point,” Sirius disagreed. “We need to know who exactly we should keep the secret _from_ , don’t we?”

 “I—I think—” Remus stopped and took a second to fully process what it was Sirius had said. Sitting back in his chair, face slack with surprise, he asked, “You…you will keep it a secret?”

James and Sirius looked at him as though he’d grown another head. “Remus,” James said slowly, perplexedly. “Why do you think we tracked you down? Didn’t we...didn’t we make it obvious?” He swung around in his chair to address Sirius and Peter. “We made it obvious, didn’t we?” 

Remus couldn’t answer. Their hesitance and wariness earlier had suggested they hadn’t quite known the answer to James’ first question themselves. Instead, he choked out, “I…don’t understand.” He had to rub his hand across his face to dry the tears starting to fall. “I don’t…You’re not…I _lied._ I kept this from you, and you had every right to know what I am.”

Peter was shaking his head before Remus had finished speaking. “I—I don’t think we did. Have the right, I mean. We were upset with you last month, and perhaps a little…confused when we discovered the truth, but...this is so much bigger than us. We were being petty. I—it was your secret, your life…”

“And besides, Remus,” Sirius teased, grey eyes dancing. “We know you. We know the only thing you could possibly do some serious damage on is a bar of Honeydukes’ finest. You do throw a good hex, too, but you’d never hurt us. Not like that.”

“But I _could._ That’s what you don’t understand,” Remus said. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. I _could_ hurt you. I could bite anyone.”

“You don’t have any plans take a chomp out of someone, do you?” Sirius asked, almost managing to keep a straight face.

“It isn’t about what I plan!” Remus exclaimed, growing frustrated. They didn’t  _understand._ “I wouldn’t know I hurt anyone until after the fact. I couldn’t stop it. I—”

James suddenly smacked his palm on the table. “Do you _want_ us to be angry about this, Remus?”

“…Aren’t you?” Remus dared to ask.

“No!” James automatically denied. Remus’ expression must have shown how little he believed him because he shrugged, pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, and corrected, “Well, I’m mad for other reasons. I’m angry it had to happen to you, of all people. I’m angry it happened when you were _five years old,_ and I’m angry about the cut on your head and all the limping I’ve seen and everything else you've had to hide. I could probably burn down the Ministry of Magic right now, I’m so angry at them, and you know what? I’m angry you’re trying to push us away, and I’m angry you can’t believe us when we say we _care_ about you, despite of all that, you wanker!”

Sirius nodded solemnly, adding, “Down with societal prejudice. We’re not about to believe everything everyone says about…mooniness."

“It’s lycanthropy,” Peter said helpfully.

Funnily enough, amongst the barrage of emotion bearing down on him, the only thing that was perfectly clear to Remus was how amazed he was they could say these things without ugly or hurtful inflections in their tones. In fact, Peter looked downright proud he was informed enough to know the proper term, and James and Sirius were beginning to _smile_. Sincerity shone from every aspect of the three.

_Maybe...maybe it was okay to hope..._

“I prefer mooniness. Rolls off the tongue better,” Sirius decided.

“I think I prefer it, too,” Remus offered, almost inaudibly, detachedly. “It’s...much better than…”

Sirius, who had looked thrilled with Remus’ recognition of his genius, suddenly sobered, cocked his head, and said, “I really hope you didn’t think so poorly of us, mate. We’d never turn on you like that. Not because of a little moony business. We have our proof everyone else is _wrong_ sitting right in front of us.”  

“Friends stick together,” James added. “ _We_ stick together.”

_Friends._ Overwhelmed and struggling to wrap his mind around what they were saying, Remus lowered his gaze again to the book. For the first time, he noticed the picture on the opposite page. Undoubtedly, the book used the shaggy man pictured there to warn its readers that werewolves “disguised” themselves to look like regular humans, but to Remus, the man was simply a man. He was not an _it,_ not a monstrosity or an abnormality, not an animal that needed to be eradicated, but some _one_ with a purpose, with ambitions and the potential to fulfill them, with dreams to find love and laughter in his life.

Remus wondered if this man had had family and friends to encourage his dreams...or if he’d lost them all—family, friends, and aspirations alike—when he’d been bitten.

“But friends are meant to trust each other with…everything,” Remus whispered carefully, self-loathing tainting his words. “Aren’t they?”

It was the first time he admitted aloud he never trusted them implicitly, not with this, and there was no denying the hurt that crossed their faces.

It washed away in the wake of their shared smiles. "Well, we'll work on that, won't we?" Sirius suggested.

James had said much the same to Sirius on their first train ride. Back at the very beginning. It had been a glib and arrogant sort of joke, but it was something none of them had forgotten. They would laugh and tease each other using the very same words whenever one of them made a mistake. Or whenever one performed below (or above) the others' standards. Every once and awhile, however, the question became loaded. Meaningful. Remus had said it when he first offered to help Peter pass his exams, James had said it when he first caught Sirius in a bad place after his mother sent another Howler, Peter had said it to James whenever Lily Evans offered a particularly bruising (if deserved) insult...

And now. They were saying it now.

He hadn’t realized he was shaking until he drew in a ragged breath...and broke down. Tears rolled down his cheeks, and suddenly, he was laughing. Crying, too, but laughing all the same.

And when Peter’s arms wrapped around him, drawing him into a fierce embrace, and the other two, not quite the type to go about hugging other blokes, actually left their chairs to join in “the puppy pile” (as Sirius loudly proclaimed it as he tackled them all), it finally registered in Remus’ mind.

His father had been wrong. About it all. These were the best mates he could ask for, and though there was so much they still had to talk about, they accepted him, mooniness and all.


End file.
